


The Journey

by RownaSeria



Series: Collection of Short Fics [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Multi, Road Trip, Sometimes Serious, but moslty humor, sometimes humorous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-05-26 09:44:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6233761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RownaSeria/pseuds/RownaSeria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony slowly starts to figure Steve out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A collection of short snippits I originally wrote for a longer work. But then I was distracted by the events in the Winter Soldier and the wrench they threw in my original plans. I nearly let the project drop.</p>
<p>Then I decided to collect my favorite bits together and post them any way, as well take this opportunity to include other short scene's I wrote separately. Hopefully they are enjoyable!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Shave

**Author's Note:**

> All you need to know before reading is that Steve and Tony are on a road trip "because of reasons" (that was pretty much the original set up, but with more words).
> 
> Written before the Winter Soldier came out.

                Tony found out the secret to Cap’s incredibly close shave a few days later. He used a straight razor—a _straight razor!_ —methodically every morning. He also parted his hair with military precision, as if he expected an officer to jump out from behind the shower curtain and demand an inspection any moment. Tony usually slept through Steve’s morning routine, as it also included an early morning run and a shower.

                It just so happened that Tony woke up hungry that morning and slunk down to the lobby to nab several muffins from the “complementary” continental breakfast the hotel provided. He ate one and squirreled the rest away for later. He’d come back up after Steve had finished his freakishly short shower, and Tony got a peek of him in nothing but a towel, leaning over the basin, and with steady meticulous strokes, shaving off his morning “stubble” (which was, in fact, hardly noticeable being blonde, and not particularly long).

                The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, “Is that a _straight razor?!_ ”

                Steve paused with the absolute stillness that only comes when holding an incredibly sharp blade dangerously close to your carotid artery. After slowly drawing his hand away, Tony caught a glimpse of Steve’s amused smile before he spoke, “You’re up early.”

                Tony held up his swag to demonstrate and said, “Muffins. I’ll even let you have one, but no more than that! Or you’ll spoil your breakfast.”

                And he ducked back into the main room, Steve’s amused chuckle following him.


	2. The Nightmare

                Tony was worried about what might happen if he had a nightmare while Steve was there. But the few times he woke sweating and panting in the dark, when Tony turned on his side and wait for Roger’s reaction, he remained asleep—or at least pretended to. Tony would listen to his breath in the dark before rolling to the side of his bed not drenched in sweat, wondering if it would be worthwhile to try to go back to sleep. And though Tony dreaded the possibility, if Steve noticed anything, he never mentioned it.

                Then again, Tony never mentioned the times when he woke to the sound of the shower running, abnormally long showers for someone who thought it was high treason to take longer than 10 minutes and waste all that water. And when the door opened, Steve would step out in a cloud of steam, briefly luminescent in the bathroom light. Then, darkness, and Steve would slip back into bed with a preternatural quietness that seemed impossible for a man so large.

                After a while Tony decided to be thankful for the old fashioned notion of not talking about things that were none of your business—at least in this case.


	3. The Dishes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The road trip has now progressed to the "everyone lives in the tower", also "because of reasons," stage.
> 
> Enjoy!

                It was nearly two a.m. when Tony walked into the common kitchen hoping to get his hands on one of the cookies Barton had baked earlier, but apparently he wasn’t the only one awake.

                “Are you washing dishes? _By hand?_ ”

                “No,” Steve replied, turning slightly and flashing Tony a rare smirk, “I’m just dunking them in hot, soapy water to see if the grease comes off—what does it look like I’m doing?”

                “You do know we have a dishwasher for that, right?” It was a rhetorical question; he’d seen Steve using it plenty of times before, “Please don’t tell me you think you can get them cleaner when you do it by hand.”

                Steve just turned back to his scrubbing, “There are plenty of other reasons to do dishes.”

                He said it in that dismissive tone of voice he used when he wanted people to drop the subject, but Tony had never been good at taking the hint—especially if he noticed it.

                “Oh really, like what?”

                Steve had started rinsing the dishes and placing them in the drying rack, making an annoying clacking noise every time. Not that the racket was avoidable. That’s why Tony hated dishes.

                “It gives me time to think, something to focus on. I used to…” and here he paused in a way Tony had become familiar with. It always happened when Steve was about to bring up something from the past and was deciding whether to say it or not, “…to do this with my mother, it’s relaxing. We didn’t… always have that much free time together… she had to work, you know?”

                _Yeah, I know about not having enough time_ , Tony thought to himself, “So, relaxing… at two in the morning?”

                He almost made a jab at Steve having trouble sleeping, but really, the guy had way too much material on Tony for a cutting rejoinder. Tony knew Steve would take advantage of that if he felt hurt. That was how most of their fights started.

                Instead, he went over and grabbed one of the cookies still sitting on the cooling rack. It was a little easier not to run his mouth hen he had something in it. Steve looked over at him munching away, “Want to grab a towel and start drying?”

                “Nope, knock yourself out, Cap. Wouldn’t want to disrupt the therapeutic process.”

                “Tony, I’m hurt,” he said, but Tony could see him smiling down into the sink.

                “I’m just not a ‘help with the dishes’ kind of guy,”

                Steve finished rinsing the dishes in silence, and Tony was surprised when Steve broached the subject again on his own, “It’s too quiet,” he said without looking up.

                “There are ways to fix that. JARVIS can play music, talk radio, ambient noise, whatever you like—“

                “It’s not that… I just…” Steve grabbed a clean dishtowel from a drawer and Tony half expected him the leave it there, but he continued, not once looking away from the dishes he was drying and neatly stacking on the counter, “I’ve never really… slept in a room by myself, I mean, yeah, sometimes! But mostly when I had to stay home sick by myself, sometimes at night, otherwise I shared a room with my mother, we were lucky enough to have a separate bedroom, and then later I always had to have roommates, obviously in the army there was the barracks, and well, it’s just strange… to have no one else there, to wake up and hear no one else breathing. There were days when I would have given anything to have my own room, to have just a little privacy, somewhere no one else could go, but…” Steve trailed off and gave a helpless little shrug, leaving it at that.

                “You could—“ Tony began, but Steve was way ahead of him.

                “Date someone just so I wouldn’t have to sleep alone?” the word “date” came out strange, as if he were unsure if it was the right one, but the glare and the obvious sarcasm spoke volumes about what Steve thought of that idea.

                “—get a roommate?” Tony trailed of lamely.

                Tony always found it difficult when Steve decided to look him in the eye—it could be unbearably intense, but he wouldn’t back down either.

                Steve finally broke away with a sigh. Tony was one part relieved… one part disappointed.

                “I guess I’ll just have to get used to it.”

                And now he was putting the dishes away, the loud clacking jarring in the wake of their earlier stillness.

                Tony grabbed another cookie and was about to leave when he turned back, and said “You know, you can come down to the lab sometimes, I’m usually up. No big deal.”

                Steve turned to look at him, a small smile creeping onto his face, “Thanks, Tony.”

                It felt like a victory.


	4. The Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I tried to recreate Tony and Pepper's banter, I difficult feat in writing! Since they're always talking over each other.
> 
> Tony is avoiding a serious talk. Inspired by the extra scene with Bruce at the end of Iron Man 3. They tied everything up nicely for the end of the movie, but we all know nothing is that simple, especially when it comes to Tony.

                “Come on Pep,” said Tony in what was not a whine at all, “I’m doing great! Went back to New York, building more than just suit after suit, and I’m even talking about it, with a _doctor_.”

                “Bruce is not a psychologist, nor is he qualified to prescribe any medication, Tony! No, don’t give me that look—”

                “What look? I don’t have a look—”

                “You most certainly do! And stop diverting, something’s bothering you—”

                “Come on, Pep, I’m fine—”

                “I’m not saying you’re not! Something can be on your mind without—”

                “—totally stable, or as stable as I ever was—”

                “—causing panic attacks, or whatever—”

                “—honestly, it’s no big deal, business as usual—”

                “—but there is _something_ —”

                “—no, it’s a… something so small, it’s not even a something—”

                “—but it’s bothering you—“

                “—bothering me? No, not like that, more like—“

                “—and we need to talk about it before it becomes a thing—“

                “—a tiny… speck, and it’s not even a thing, not, not even a nascent, baby, pupa thing, just waiting to sprout into a full-grown thing—“

                “Tony!”

                Pepper’s shout finally cut off the stream of words.

                “OK, so you’re not ready to talk about this, obviously. I’ll just… I’ll be upstairs if you change your mind.”


	5. The Person

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might need a preface. I've always liked stories where Steve hangs out an does quite things in Tony's lab while he works. In this scene Steve is acting strange, and Tony's the only one who hasn't noticed yet.

                “You need to talk to Cap.”

                “What?” Tony was deeply engrossed in his current project, and hadn’t really heard what Clint said.

                “You need to talk to Steve, you’re his person.”

                “His… person? What? I don’t think so… And more importantly, how did you get in here?”

                Barton should not have the over-ride code for his lab, not that it mattered as the archer ignored the question completely.

                “Steve’s like a cat, and you’re his person, and you need to talk to him.”

                “Barton, I have no idea where this is coming from—and wouldn’t Cap be more of a dog… person?”

                “He’s a cat who thinks he’s a dog,” Clint said with conviction, pausing before elaborating, “We had one like that, when I was in the circus. He came when you called, liked getting pet real hard, begged for table scraps, but sometimes he would disappear and no one could find him. But he’d always turn up, usually curled up on Christine’s pillow, or inside her open duffle bag, or on her discarded jacket, because Christine was his person. So: person,” he pointed at Tony, “pillow,” he pointed at the couch in the corner.

                “Don’t be ridiculous—”

                “He’s always down here when no one can find him, not that you would notice.”

                “I’d notice,” said Tony, indignant at the suggestion that he might not know what was going on under his own roof, “It’s not like we do anything special—and besides, I think your metaphor’s a little weak. Dogs can have a ‘person’ too. Just saying.”

                “Yeah, but he comes down here to do cat things—”

                “Uh, no, there is no bathing with tongues going on here, believe me, I’d notice something like that. He just draws, or reads, while I work on—”

                “—Exactly! Parallel play. He doesn’t do that with the rest of us—”

                “—my latest project—wait, he doesn’t?” That’s what he spends the majority of his time doing around Tony when they’re not arguing… or having awkward, possibly deep conversations.

                “No, well, he reads the paper at breakfast, but that hardly counts.”

                “Well, he’s not… I guess we might be friends, but it’s not like we’re…)”

                “Best friends? God, I hope not. I don’t think I could handle it… or maybe you’d fight less… no, wait, probably not. I said you’re his _person_ , his twenty first century buddy, so you need to go talk to him.”

                “I’m still not one hundred percent sure what you’re doing here…”

                “Nat sent me. Would you rather she came down?”

                “No, no, we’re cool, Barton.”

                “Right. She’s worried about Cap, is all. So, do something, or she’ll be visiting you next.”

                And with that, Clint began to leave, but Tony couldn’t possibly let him have the last word, “Right-ee-o, messenger hawk.”

                Clint flipped him off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was so tempting to write "flipped him the bird," but that would be too cheesy! I'm used to saying "flicked him off," but I've always found the phrase "flipping the bird" amusing.   
> When I think about it, "gave him the middle finger" sounds oddly formal. Ah, the strange conundrums of writing!


	6. The Drive-in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has an opinion about drive-in restaurants.

                Steve’s reaction and acceptance of modern technology and culture was variable. Tony kept what he thought of as a mental data set for analyzing what Steve’s potential reaction could be, based on past observations. SHEILD usually got it wrong, though apparently they had tried. They had excel spreadsheets and charts on him and everything.

                Steve was actually ok with computers. He’d been taught some basics, and didn’t seem to have too much trouble, as long as whoever was showing him something new assumed he had absolutely no base knowledge. He had learned basic keyboarding before and was very excited to know the QWERTY keyboard remained nearly unchanged. Apparently he’d done some work in the past as a typist. He had no problem with JARVIS. And that was the crux. Advanced tech that could only have been considered fanciful science fiction did not faze him at all. A “disembodied” AI that’s capable of carrying on a conversation? No problem.

                Then there were the things that Cap didn’t like simply because he didn’t like them, new or not. He loathed modern architecture. So discussing the look of Stark Tower was completely off limits. He still bought an actual, physical newspaper, even though Tony was pretty sure he could access to it on his phone too, and he preferred “real books.” Which, fine, was a personal preference—and he read a lot. So, sometimes Steve would express disdain for modern aesthetics, and this was when he sounded the most like an old man. He actually used the phrase “Back in my day…” a lot, and would suddenly stop talking if he caught himself doing it because they’d teased him so much. It was pretty funny.

                But the things that completely left Steve flat footed, that seemed to make no sense to him whatsoever, was harder to predict.

                There was the one time Clint thought it would be a great idea to stop at a Sonic. They were in a big black SUV, and some idiot let Clint take the wheel, so there was really no avoiding that one.

                “Wait, so we stay _in_ the car?” asked Steve.

                “Yeah,” said Clint, “someone will bring the food out. They used to make the servers do it on roller skates.”

                “So we sit an eat.”

                “Yes.”

                “In the car.”

                “To be fair,” said Tony, “it’s more fun with the top down.”

                Natasha was in the front with Clint. Tony and Steve had the captain’s chairs in the middle and Bruce was ensconced in the back.

                That meant, out of everyone (except Clint, if he dared to look in the rear view mirror) Tony had the best view of the incredulous expression plastered all over Steve’s face.

                “Why… why wouldn’t we just go _inside_? Or.. do the drive-through thing?”

                “—So we can show of how totally bad-ass we are in our bad-ass ride.”

                “—So I don’t have to wait to eat my burger.”

                Said Tony and Clint at the same time.

                “Ha,” chuckled Tony, “You know this is totally what you would have done if you hadn’t been put on ice? It’s pretty much one of the most iconic images of the fifties.”

                “Well, I’m pretty sure I would have thought it was silly idea back then too,” said Steve, arms crossed and a stubborn set to his jaw.

                “Don’t diss the drive-in, man,” said Clint.

                “Are we going to order, or just sit on our asses and discuss the venue?” asked Natasha in a dry tone that Tony was pretty sure meant she was about five seconds away from murdering them all.

                Her ability to cut through their bull shit chatter was both astounding and terrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to quick wiki this to see if it made any sense. Most drive-in restaurants got big 1945 and after, especially in the Midwest. (As far as I could tell just from clicking through the list of restaurants they had on Wikipedia.) It looks like some were open earlier, on the west coast. But, I figured since Steve was on the east coast and probably didn't own a car the history buff in me could breath a bit easier and let this amusing scene fly.


	7. The Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cap ditched his cell phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wiki'd how to talk on the radio, but didn't try to go so technical since they never actually talk like that in the movies or comics. (This is something I should actually know for practical reasons because I do go sailing with my dad... kind of a safety thing. Now I know!)
> 
> And what I know about national parks I know from visiting these types of places in Minnesota and North Dakota, and from watching cartoons as a child, so my depiction might not quite mirror reality.  
> Also, for those reasons, may be outdated!

                Yosemite was vast, and as he drove up to the visitor center he wondered how the hell he was supposed to track Rogers down. Why Cap felt the need to go incommunicado for a few weeks—except, according to Natasha, by a radio with a pathetically short range—was a mystery. Apparently Cap was pretty good at disappearing when he wasn’t going on a star-spangled mission to save the day. In which case, he was about a sneaky as neon paint under a black light.

                As he got out of the car a man dressed in a park ranger uniform approached from the station entrance.

                “Tony Stark?”

                “Who wants to know?”

                “I’m Dave. Wow, it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. When a woman called and said you were coming, I thought she might be joking,” said the ranger, professionalism not quite masking the awe in his voice.

                “Nope. It’s me, what woman?”

                “Er, said her name was Natalie? And that you were going to need to make a call on the radio.”

                Tony was relieved when the ranger restrained his inner fan boy. Dave led him over to the station and showed him the radio.

                Natasha had given Tony instructions on what frequency to use to reach Steve. Assuming he even had his radio on. Oh joy.

                He shot the hovering Ranger Dave a look. Didn’t that guy have ranger things to do? Like preventing forest fires or dealing with stolen picnic baskets?

                “Calling Captain Pain in the Ass. Nat sent me. You better reply. Over.”

                There was a long pause, then the line crackled, “Stark, is that you? This is Steve. What are you doing out here? And I know you know how to use a radio properly. Over.”

                The signal was a little static-y, but he could understand Steve well enough.

                “Where’s the fun in that? I’m just hanging out at the station with my pal Dave here, wondering what possible reason a certain terrifying red head we’re mutually acquainted with could have for asking me to come get your ass—and even more importantly, what the fuck you’re doing in the middle of a national park. Over.”

                “You didn’t have to come. Over.”

                “Look here, Rogers,” Tony held himself back from saying “Cap,” no need to cue Dave into the fact that he was dealing with two celebrities… although if he had half a brain he could probably figure it out anyway, “I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t want to. End of story. Over.”

                “Fine… Nat sent you? Over.”

                “Yep,” Tony was sick of the over, over, over crap, whatever.

                “Did she say why? Over.”

                “Personal favor. She’s going to owe me big time.” they both knew how likely he would be able to call in that one. Never.

                There was another pause before Steve replied, was he hesitating? Or just drawing it out to string Tony on because he wasn’t following the bare minimum of radio procedure? “Ok. I can meet you at 37 degrees 48’39.1”N, 119 degrees 29’08.5”W in about one hour, or four. Over.”

                “One to four hours? Kind of a broad range there, old man. Over.”

                He could practically her the shrug in Roger’s tone of voice, even through the static, “Depends on if I feel like running or not. Over.”

                “O-kay then,” said Tony, drawing out the “o”, “See you in two to four. Out.”

                As he turned, Tony saw Dave looking shiftily out of the corner of his eye, “Yeah?”

                “Er,” stuttered Dave, “could I maybe get an autograph? If it’s no trouble, for my boy—he’s a big fan.”

                “Sure,” said Tony, laying on the charm and signing the magazine he was pretty sure didn’t belong to a kid. At least Dave saved the fan-boy shenanigans until after.


	8. The Distance

                Tony took his time driving to their meeting place. He got a cup a crap coffee from a vending machine, snacked on some pricy trail mix, and killed some time on his tablet tinkering with a potential enhancement for the suit. Which, when he put that down, left him with thirty minutes to hit the one hour mark at their rendezvous point. Perfect. Tony liked driving fast.

                He was surprised to find Rogers already there when he arrived. The blonde was looking out over the cliff edge. Tony almost gave in to the urge to crack a double-rainbow joke, but the feeling dried up when he got a closer look at Steve’s expression. He wasn’t taking in the view like a tourist, but gazing off into the distance as if there was something else out there other than rocks and trees and furry woodland creatures to coo at. Something unsettling, and sad.

                Disliking the turn of his thoughts, Tony tried to pep talk himself out of it, _Focus on the objectives. Get Cap and get out_.

                “Hey!” he said, falsely cheery, “so you’re here early!”

                Roger’s glanced at Tony over his shoulder, before looking back out over the edge and shrugging half-heartedly, “It wasn’t as far as I thought.”

                “Right…” said Tony, letting the word trail off. He doubted that.

                It was hard to tell if Cap was sweating under his jacket. How far had he ran? And how fast?

                “No need to be ashamed, anyone would be excited to see me.”

                “Oh really?” it was Steve’s turn to sound skeptical.

                “Barring the few who’d prefer to wring my neck, I think it’s a pretty fair assessment. So, let’s say you step away from the ledge and we blow this popsicle stand?”

                “Stark,” and this time Rogers looked him directly in the eye, “why are you here?”

                So much for light banter. It was that same look Tony remembered from the Helecarrier, challenging and defiant, unwilling to back down. The type of look Tony rarely had directed his way. When he met people who opposed him he usually talked them around, or talked _around_ them. Acting like he could do whatever he pleased—because he could—usually did the rest. But Steve was different. He might shelve the issue, but it would be a mistake to believe he’d given in.

                Tony held Roger’s gaze as he replied, “You know, I don’t drive out to the middle of the wilderness for just anyone.”

                “That doesn’t answer my question.”

                “I’m pretty sure it does.”

                He wasn’t quite sure whether or not Rogers would fight him on that one, until the super soldier broke eye contact and climbed into the passenger seat of the convertible.

                It wasn’t a question he particularly wanted to answer. Ever. Even to himself. And he wasn’t entirely certain he’d get out of it in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem that inspired this whole production is rather relevant to this chapter. I imagine it must be something like how Steve feels at times. Since we don't get a lot of his perspective in this story, I thought I'd share it here.
> 
> There was set before me a mighty hill,  
> And long days I climbed  
> Through regions of snow.  
> When I had before me the summit-view,  
> It seemed that my labor  
> Had been to see gardens  
> Lying at impossible distances.  
> \--Stephen Crane


	9. The Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony consults Bruce on an... issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This snippet takes place some time before Age of Ultron. 
> 
> It's actually one of the things I wrote after seeing the above movie, and I think it can fit in with these stories. After all, they were originally supposed to be unconnected (though they totally ended up connected. The chapter effect.)

                Things had been going really well right up until they weren’t, and Tony couldn’t figure out what the hell had gone wrong.

                Maybe it was living in the tower. Being roommates could ruin lifelong friendships, so his and Steve’s tentative truce, or whatever it was they had, probably didn’t stand a chance. But, in Tony’s experience, these kinds of things usually ended in a big fight, with lots of yelling. He and Cap hadn’t done that. They bickered, a lot, but the Big Fight, capitals very much intended, hadn’t happened.

                And it _had_ to happen, didn’t it? Tony was driving himself up the walls waiting for the other shoe to drop. It made him sarcastic and snappy. He just wanted the suspense to be over.

                “What’s his problem?” asked Tony while tinkering with a computer console in the lab—Bruce’s lab, to be specific.

                “What’s who’s problem?” replied Bruce coolly, glancing at Tony over the rim of his glasses before returning to the equations he’d been working on.

                “Cap’s problem. Haven’t you noticed?”

                “You’re going to have to be more specific,” said Bruce dryly.

                Tony had moved on to examining a set of test tubes, picking each one up in turn, “You know. He’s been a bit pissy…not with you, of course, but with other people…”

                By which he meant himself, but it wasn’t like he was actually going to _say_ Cap only seemed to have a problem with him. It was depressing enough just to think it.

                “I think,” said Bruce, still pointedly looking at his work and _not_ at Tony, “that’s between the two of you.”

                “Yeah, but I could really use some outside insight here, Brucy-bear,” pressed Tony, ignoring Bruce’s implied desire to stay out if it, “you have perspective. What did I do this time? You’ve got to have some kind of clue. Just give me a hint.”

                Bruce finally gave up and took off his glasses before looking Tony right in the eye, “I am not playing messenger for you.”

                “No messages. Just tell me what it was I did,” said Tony, quick to take up the tacit offer to talk, “Is it because of that time I flew into the bunker and the bomb went off? Or maybe that other time my suit was damaged and I didn’t tell anyone? It wasn’t like it was that critical, it was just the guidance system. Or when I blasted that hole in the—”

                Bruce sighed and cut him off, “What you _do_ just makes him… concerned. But if he’s actually mad at you—which, mind you, I don’t think he is—it was probably something you said.”

                “Really? Are you sure?” asked Tony incredulously.

                Cap always got a particularly stormy look whenever Iron Man did something he considered “dangerous” or “reckless,” as if Mr. Jumps-out-of-planes-without-a-parachute had any moral high ground in that argument. After a mission he would usually have some pretty hypocritical statements for Tony about safety. Then they’d trade some sarcastic comments and go their separate ways. Tony was pretty sure the looks Steve gave him couldn’t be categorized as “concern.”

                “Well, you two do tend wind each other up. I think you both end up saying things you don’t intend to,” said Bruce.

                “Still not seeing how that translates to ‘concern.’ Just saying.”

                “Ok, so concern is not exactly the word I want to use. All I’m saying is he worries about you. And you need to stop trying to get a rise out of the guy.”

                “Ok, how is that fair?” Tony asked in indignation, “He such a smart-ass. Sometimes he starts it, you know? How is that my fault?”

                And, Tony thought to himself, when had the teasing devolved into a sarcastic bitch-fest? It was like they were all the way back at square one.

                “Look, Tony,” said Bruce in exasperation, “You and Steve need to stop doing what you _both_ do best: avoiding having personal conversations, and figure out your… dynamic, or whatever you want to call it—whether it’s your working relationship, or friendship, or… whatever. Just… actually talk to the guy, ok?”

                 After Tony nodded Bruce turned back to his work, but he let out a parting shot: “And don’t involve me in it.”

                Tony rolled his eyes. Even so, Bruce wasn’t wrong, not that he had to like it, “I’ll take your advice under consideration,” he threw over his shoulder as he left the lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have two potential chapters on deck, but they don't fit with each other thematically. So it's down to if I truly want this to be a series of related episodes, or truly a random collection of ficlets. Feel free to weigh in. :)


	10. The Reason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to imagine this as after CA:CW, or after a different major fall out of your choice. This is a tidbit I've been considering growing into it's own story, but I haven't decided. It fits pretty well with this group. 
> 
> That being said, I think I dropped enough info to make the situation comprehensible without all the exact details that came before, but please, please tell me if something doesn't make sense.

                Cap was picking at the corner of his sketchbook, which was weirding Tony the fuck out because Steve didn’t _do_ nervous ticks. Glaring into the corner? Yes. Crossing his arms and frowning? Yes. Looking adorably disgruntled? Yes. But he didn’t tap his foot, or pick his fingernails, or nervously scratch… ever: hence the disturbing nature of the sketchbook flipping. Tony was tempted to reach out and stop him. The soft _fwwp_ sound was making something unsettling curl its way through Tony’s gut.

                But just before Tony was about to bat his hand away, Steve spoke.

                “I… I didn’t want to mess up your life.”

                He didn’t look up, and his words were almost too soft for Tony to hear, but that wasn’t what made Tony speak up next.

                “You didn’t want to _what_?”

                This time Steve caught Tony right in the eye and said, firmly, “Mess your life up. I didn’t want to do that.”

                Of all the things Tony had thought Steve might say, that was _not_ even on the list.

                “Well, congratulations, if that was your intention you obviously failed spectacularly.”

                “But,” Steve scowled and looked away before regrouping and making eye contact again, “Okay, I’m not going to argue with that. But that’s… not really what I was talking about.”

                “Then what _were_ you talking about?”

                “You asked… why things got so bad between us. And… well, that’s why. Besides the fact that we can’t seem to agree on anything.”

                “Let me get this straight. You’re saying the reason all that shit went down is because we can’t agree, and—I’m making a direct quote here— _and_ you ‘didn’t want to mess my life up’?” Tony asked incredulously.

                Steve just shrugged and looked away, which was also freaky as hell. Tony had never known the guy not to be obnoxiously direct. Now he wanted answers.

                “Okay, you are obviously going to have to explain this to me more, because I have _no_ idea what you could possibly mean by that. I’ll I’m getting from this is that you messed my life up because you didn’t want to mess my life up.”

                Steve huffed, squared his jaw, and picked a point over on Tony’s right to glare at.

                Which was… actually kind of terrifying.

                “I know things are different now,” said Steve firmly, “and I think it’s great. I really do. And I know it’s not such a bad thing, but it just isn’t that simple. For me. In this case.”

                Tony wondered how long Steve could continue to talk around the subject without actually bringing it up.

                “I mean, most of the time I thought you were with… it seemed pointless to even say anything. And besides, I don’t know if you even… But that didn’t stop me from acting like an idiot…”

                “Steve, for fuck’s sake, just say it,” burst out Tony, unable to take it any longer.

                But Steve still paused before going on, “…You know how you like to crack jokes about how everyone has an exception?”

                That was one way to summarize Tony’s incessant teasing about who Cap would “go gay” for…

                “Well, Peggy was mine. The reason the kicked me to the USO and not the army, it wasn’t just because they labeled Project Rebirth a ‘failure,’ since I was the only successful subject. I mean, that’s what they said later, of course. Someone did a thorough job cleaning that file up. But they originally had all the previous 4Fs I’d gotten under other names, not just the last one. Which was in the SHEILD file, and sometimes they asked those psych questions different. So, you know…”

                Tony was about to say, “No I don’t,” when something in Steve’s words finally clicked. World War II recruitment wasn’t really Tony’s research topic of choice, but he did know one thing they’d kick otherwise fit guys out of the military for.

                He burst out, “Hang on, are you trying to tell me you’re gay?”

                “Well—I wouldn’t really use that word—“

                “Bi, then?”

                “That’s not really—“

                “But what you _are_ trying to say is you’re attracted to… wait, it’s to me? That’s it?”

                Steve just shrugged, and Tony watched in amazement as he turned bright red, and in a stifled voice Tony had never heard before said “...You _are_ very good looking…”

                “But why me?” the words were out of Tony’s mouth before he could stop them.

                Steve was still refusing to make eye contact, but he cleared his throat and said, “Really, Tony, I think that’d be obvious.”

                Tony rolled his eyes, “Because I’m fabulously rich and famous?”

                “No, that part’s kind of annoying actually,” said Steve, “But even when we don’t agree, I know that deep down you’re only doing your best to help people. And, all else aside, you always _try_. There’s not many people out there like that.”

                Finally Steve looked at him, and Tony couldn’t look away.

                “You’re not mad at me?” asked Steve warily.

                “Mad? Why the hell would I be mad at you?”

                And, shit, Tony might never have another opportunity like this. He reached up, took Steve’s face in his hands, and gave him a long, hard kiss.

                It was a little awkward; he could feel Steve hesitate over what to do with his hands. But it also lit a spark that flowed all the way from their joined lips down to Tony’s belly, and he knew Steve felt it too.

                He pulled back, Steve’s face still in his hands, looked him right in the eye, and said, “Steve, whatever happens, you need to know you could _never_ mess up my life because you are attracted to me. We might not agree some of the time—most of the time, and we might mess up each other’s lives for other reasons—but _never_ for that one.”

                Steve let out a long, shaky breath, and said “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This section drew a lot from resources another story referenced, but unfortunately I didn't keep track of it close enough and haven't been able to dig up the links yet. One is a book which can be tracked down: "Coming Out Under FIre" by Allan Berube, which I am still in the process of reading. The second was a live journal post that quoted a book containing interviews with POWs who started homosexual relationships while imprisoned. A couple quotes really struck such a chord with me, and the one that ends with "... I don't want to make a mess of his life. I don't know what I am going to do," is where this story sprung from. 
> 
> And Tony's last paragraph is pure self-indulgence. It's just something I really wanted to say. I think it needs to be said, even for all the times it seems like it isn't true. Carrying shame around is a bitch, trust me I know, if only a little.
> 
> Also, maybe I should up the rating on this for all the swearing? For now, this will be the last chapter. Glad we got at least a little steve/tony in there, I'm quite good at avoiding the subject myself!


End file.
